


In Which Misha Makes Things Better (Or At Least Kind of Weirder)

by dizzy



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Community: prettylightsfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's having a bad day, and Misha is kind of weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Misha Makes Things Better (Or At Least Kind of Weirder)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gblvr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gblvr/gifts).



Sometimes, you just have a bad day. Sometimes you just don't feel like being around people. Sometimes you want to punch your best buds in the face because they won't move out of your goddamn way.

People keep asking him what's wrong. They're concerned. They care. They want to make sure he doesn't storm off set and keep them all an extra two hours late.

(He won't, he wouldn't, that's not the kind of guy he is, and they probably know it but they also have families they want to get home to, and any other day he'd understand, but any other day they wouldn't be looking at him like they suspect it in the first place.)

People keep asking him what's wrong, and Jensen really hates it when people ask him what's wrong.

*

They push his scenes back because the lighting is all wrong and something they need has been taking out for a location shot and the director's pissed off and Jensen just wants to not be here.

So that's what he does - he changes into shorts and a t-shirt and puts on his running shoes. He doesn't take his outfit back to costuming, just leaves it draped across his trailer floor. He doesn't really give a fuck right now.

Running feels nice. His feet pound the ground outside of the studio. He takes off down a back road, a winding dirt path with truck tire marks etched into the mud. It's uneven and if he falls and scrapes something, bruises something, god forbid breaks something, he'll be in a shitload of trouble but he _really doesn't give a fuck_ and it seems more important to sweat out his frustration.

He's winded by the time he makes it back around to the studio. He's pushed himself harder than a normal workout would take him, at least three miles of running fast and furious until his bones feel like spaghetti noodles and his heart won't stop thumping. He gulps in air like it's going out of style.

"They're looking for you," a familiar voice says.

Jensen jumps but he's still leaning over and his balance is fucked. His ass hits the ground with a thump and he winces, glares up at Misha but none of the vitriol he felt toward the world in general just hours before is present. "Ow, man. Ow."

Misha laughs and takes a few steps closer, looking Jensen up and down before offering him a hand. Jensen grasps it and hoists himself up, letting go once he's on his feet. Misha looks down at the dirt and sweat smeared on his hand now, and then rubs his palm across his jeans.

They start walking in the direction of their trailers, and Jensen remembers what had startled him in the first place. "Who was looking for me? What did they want?"

Misha shrugs. "I don't remember."

"You high or something?" Jensen snorts.

Misha just grins at him, and follows Jensen to his trailer. Jensen's used to it. Misha can be one weird fucker when he wants to be, but Jensen's kind of used to it.

*

Inside his trailer, Jensen downs half a bottle of water and flops down onto his couch.

"Feel better?" Misha asks, voice slightly amused, and Jensen gives him a wry grin when he realizes exactly how visible the thunderclouds over his head had been before.

"Yeah," he admits, reaching down to rub at his calf. "Little sore, though."

"You didn't warm up beforehand?" Misha frowns.

"Nah," Jensen says. He rubs harder, trying to stave off the cramp he feels building. He's surprised when Misha kneels by the couch. "What-"

"Shut up," Misha murmurs, almost politely, but he winks up at Jensen. His fingers trace up and down like he's feeling something out, mapping out the hair-roughened skin, and then the pressure gradually increases.

It's weird, but it feels good, so Jensen doesn't ask him to stop.

It feels good and after a minute it starts to feel great and his fingers are splayed wide over Jensen's leg now, thumbs massaging overworked and under-prepared muscle. Jensen's body starts to pick up signals it shouldn't be reading. His stomach starts to flutter, to twist, and his breath escapes him in an almost-sigh.

He licks his lips and tells himself he's going to speak any moment now but he doesn't.

Misha switches to the other leg.

When he's done with that one, he looks up at Jensen and Jensen looks back at him and now is really when he needs to say something but he doesn't and Misha's hands are on his thighs leaning up, firm pressure down to propel his upper body. Jensen looks into his eyes until he can't anymore and then he's searching for another point of focus, and nothing seems right. The plane of his stubbled cheek, the curve of his neck, it's all appealing in that strange way that he always associates with Misha.

"You should know," Misha says, his voice soft and casual, "That I'm very attracted to you."

He stutters a bit as he breathes out, forcing the air through his nostrils.

"Okay?" Misha asks.

Jensen nods, because this should be pushing all of his freak-out buttons, but somehow it isn't. "What's going on, man? Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't feel as though it would be right to take advantage of a chance to satisfy my own desire to have my hands on you without you realizing what I'm doing," Misha says, a slightly rueful smile.

"Right," Jensen says, then repeats one of his previous questions. "What's going on?"

Misha shrugs, a strangely delicate motion. "Whatever you want to be going on."

"You're married," Jensen says, because that's honestly the only objection that rises to his lips. Not that he's straight; not that he has a girlfriend; not that they work together, though those are all perfectly valid points, all right in line, and isn't that wrong, shouldn't that he's straight be the biggest issue here?

"I am," Misha agrees. "But we have an... understanding."

Oh.

An understanding.

Oh.

Only, Misha's always made him look twice like that, and Misha's fuck-it-all way of thinking has kind of rubbed off on Jensen in ways he hadn't really thought possible. It's not a put on, it's not for show. He's open to everyone and everything, and it's a fucking miraculous thing, and Jensen could spend hours just listening to him talk or watching his expressive those eyes can be.

He's never bothered - never been brave enough - to place that feeling before, but Misha's sudden honesty forces a reconciliation in his brain. He's got a crush... and the guy he has a thing for just propositioned him.

Jensen might have a lot of hang-ups, but not going after what he wants has thankfully never been one of them.

"Well," Jensen says. "If you have an understanding..."

Misha's face lights up. "Really?"

Jensen has to smile. "I'm not - I mean - it's not something I've done before, so I don't know..."

"I'll make it good," Misha says, and his voice holds such a note of intensity that Jensen can't help but feel a little frisson of excitement.

Despite the declaration just made, it's still unexpected when Misha rises toward him, hands still on Jensen's thighs, leaning his body over Jensen's seated one.

Misha kisses his neck, not his face. Jensen groans, his hand rising to Misha's shoulder, his head tilting to the side. "What..."

Another ticklish kiss, this time to his jaw. "We can't... like that..." He brushes his lips very, very lightly across Jensen's. "I haven't shaved."

Stubble. Stubble burn. Right.

"Right," Jensen says.

"But there are other ways..." He says it with such a devilish grin that Jensen has to squirm.

"Yeah?" Jensen says. His voice is so eager that it makes both of them grin.

"But not right now." He reaches down and takes Jensen's hand. "Because they're going to come looking for you again any minute."

Jensen frowns and looks down at their hands.

"It'll give you a few minutes to think it over, anyway," Misha moves away with a smile on his face, seemingly unperturbed by the idea that Jensen might change his mind... or maybe just convinced that it won't happen. "And maybe after we've wrapped..."

Misha's smile is still as jubilant as before. It's the smile of a man that wants to get laid, and despite Misha's occasional oddness, it's a very familiar sort of thing.

"We can go for a drink," Jensen says, finding his voice again.


End file.
